Come Into My Dream
by Petunias
Summary: Wendy's grandaughter meets the adventurous Peter Pan.....My best writing so far, so please r&r! OH
1. Growing Up

_I don't know what to say, I was so inspired when writing this chapter, and I may warn you not every chapter will be this emotional. And I know I promised all other readers that I'd finish one of the other stories before staring a new one, but I felt the inspiration for this one chapter may have disappeared._  
  
_Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Peter Pan. I also do not own the song 'Come into My Dream' written and performed by the artist, Foggy. This disclaimer will cover this entire story.___

**Growing Up**

_'__Come into my dream,  
  
Let me show you where I've been.  
  
It's unique I've seen,  
  
Let me tell you what I mean.'_  
  
Wendy awoke abruptly in the middle of her dream again. She called it her dream because she was the only one who dreamt it. You see, no two people ever dream the same dream. Anyway, she awoke from this dream, the one of Peter. Yes, it may have been silly for a girl of her age to still think of fairy tales, but she really had nothing else to obsess over.  
  
She would awaken almost every night now from that dream. The images were so clear and vivid. Peter would come to her window, take her hand, and fly with her to the wonderful Neverland. It was when she saw the first rays of light, she would wake up. Afterwards, she would wait by the open window, waiting for him.  
  
The evenings before she would stow herself up in her room and read the book Peter Pan over and over, memorizing every line of every page. As she would do this upstairs, downstairs her parents would fight about the littlest of things from what every dinner would be that week to how to pay the bills. She saw children who were sick of seeing there parents show affection to one another. It was absurd how they thought; she had wished every night that her mother and father would show that kind of love for one another even if it was just for one day. I guess she does have a reason to admire the stories of Peter Pan as much as she does. It was a way for her to escape.  
  
This Wendy was special. She was named after her grandmother; the one supposedly known for her terrific adventures in Neverland; the one said to have helped defeat the all terrible Capt. Hook; the one to have captured Peter's heart. A woman so great it would have taken a miracle for someone else to accomplish as much as she had; and a miracle it was to arrive at the window sill seeking adventures at ungodly hoursof the night.  
  
Morning made haste on the night the adventure would begin. Though time stopped for nothing as if to hurry along just to see what would happen that night. Wendy sat at the dinner table staring fixedly at her plate.  
  
"Wendy," her mother's voice startled her from the end of the table. "You know it to be rude to stare at your food. Come girl, and eat heartily. I shan't let you leave 'til every bit is eaten." Her father put down the paper in front of him and looked at his wife scornfully (mind you, her father wore spectacles and looked the every bit humorous when doing this).  
  
"For god sake's dear, must you be so persistent with her?" her mother cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Well, if I don't she should wither into skin and bones in front of our very eyes. It's good for the child to stop bad habits now before she matures—" her mother snapped, but was interrupted.  
  
"It 'tis not a habit mum, I was only thinking." She had finally broken her gaze at the unadorned food to tell her mother. "Besides, I wouldn't eat it for the lives of the royal family." Now in the day (and it still is) this was an insult to the British; also this statement was surprisingly rude to be coming from her so clearly you know it shocked both her parents.  
  
"Absurd." Her mother gasped. "Do you see now Herald? It's those books. Those fairy tales she reads." She hissed at her husband who only sighed in frustration.  
  
It was the thing she regretted ever hearing escape her mother's lips. "No." she said silently.  
  
"Yes," mother breathed deeply. "You have been an embarrassment to our family in this society with your ridiculous stories of Neverland and that ludicrous Peter Pan. Your grandmother was a loony when she thought up the idea of a boy flying into her nursery looking for his shadow, as for the cock-and-bull stories of her actually fighting pirates, and meeting fairies. God forbid if you still believe in fairies."  
  
"If you say you don't believe in fairies mum, one of them will fall down dead." Wendy retorted.  
  
"I DO NOT BELIEVE IN FAIRIES!" Her mother screeched, making Wendy gasp in horror. She pitied the poor fairy growing weaker every passing second.  
  
"Jane, please, you must remain calm." Her father bellowed at Moira.  
  
"Oh shut up Herald. You've never supported me on this subject.....EVER!" She finally arose from her seat in fury.  
  
"Young lady," She turned on Wendy once more, "I will have no more of this. You have been considered a child in this family for too long. It is time for you to _grow up_!"  
  
She could almost hear the ripping of her heart in her chest. A tear silently rolled down her cheek. "Never." she whispered. She fled the table at once with only her mother's yelling following behind her.  
  
As she entered the dark and gloomy room she called home, she laid on the bed crying. The shouts once again arose from downstairs which only made her more depressed. As she gained control of herself once more, she stumbled over to her dresser where her Peter Pan book lain. Sitting next to the window sill, she opened the book to a random page seeing as she knew almost the entire book by heart and could start from anywhere without confusion.  
  
"Perhaps I am too old to believe in fairy tales. Just maybe." She sighed looking out the window. The night air was cool, and the sky at it's clearest. All of the heavens were visible from that window sill. Every star shined its brightest, and the moon gave off a light brighter than the brightest night light in all of Britain. She fell asleep next to the window with a last word on her lips and a silhouette of a little man standing outside the window.  
  
"Maybe."


	2. Hello Little Man

_To explain to a few people, the time era is modern, if not perhaps in the future. I know the name of the granddaughter in the book is Margaret, and so, I will move the name Wendy to be her middle name (and more preferred) and Margaret to be her first. And the proper name for the mother is Jane. Enjoy!_  
  
**Hello Little Man  
**  
His feet made no sound on the floorboards; his shadow following behind, stuck to him like drops of water. He did not come for the normal spring cleaning; he was on a mission for help.  
  
His movements were quick in the dark room, careful not to stir anything. _Where was Wendy?_ The room looked odd. It seemed gloomier; grayer to him. This was not Wendy's room. Wendy's room was full of life and joyfulness, with the sounds of John and Michael snug in their beds, and the night lights giving a flickering glow to things.  
  
But, here was darkness. Not one nightlight to brighten up the downtrodden room. As he observed this, he tripped over something next to the windowsill. It stirred and gave a wild moan. Wendy?  
  
He kneeled by the figure and gently poked and prodded it with his finger. "Wendy?" he poked harder until the thing swatted back pushing him on his butt.  
  
"Stupid ass." It murmured. He frowned at this and kicked it (whatever it was). It finally woke up, crawling backwards to the wall in surprise. "Who's there?" Peter got on his feet immediately. She had finally seen the little boy. Not a day older than when her grandmother had seen him. Pearly white teeth grinning at her, gangly like any boy his age, and hands on his hips with an air of sear confidence.  
  
"Wendy. Come back with me. Come to Neverland. We'll have so much fun!" he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She pulled away losing her balance and landing on her butt again. The little boy laughed hysterically; bending over with tears in his eyes.  
  
"Tis' not funny to laugh at someone else. You should have better etiquette than that!" she snapped at him. This stopped him dead in his fit of laughter.  
  
"You're not Wendy." He looked at her awkward.  
  
"No, I'm Margaret Wendy Angela Darling. What's you're name?" she finally became very curious, but he didn't answer; only backed away from her.  
  
"You're.....not.....Wendy?" a tear spilled from the corner of his eye. That was when she realized who he was.  
  
"You talk of my grandmother.....Peter." she had arisen from the ground and moved over to him. She lain a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off just as quickly. "How do you know my name?" he turned to face her.  
  
"The Wendy you know of wrote of all your great adventures. She wrote of you, of Neverland, of the lost boys," he smiled again, "of tink." His hardened with a bit of sorrow, "of Hook." he turned his back and hissed.  
  
"Don't say his name." he whispered.  
  
"Why? He's dead isn't he? I thought you would have forgotten him by now."  
  
"No one forgets Jas Hook in Neverland. Especially me; and he ain't dead." This sparked some curiosity within her. Hook's not dead? "The Crock swallowed him hole; and he gutted it with his hook." He brought up his curved finger and swiped at the air. Wendy jumped at the gesture. "I came for help from Wendy, and John, and Michael." Margaret pitied the boy for what she was about to tell him.  
  
"Peter, have you forgotten?" she questioned him. She moved forward to him as he backed away. "Don't you remember? She grew up. All of them did. You even met her daughter."  
  
"It hasn't been long. It wasn't that long ago she came back with me for spring cleaning." he went back to his happy former self. But, he soon deflated his chest and let his smile fall. "But, now it's just you." Margaret felt a bit insulted but let it go. Then, she thought of an idea.  
  
"Take me with you." He looked at her awkward. "Take me to Neverland. I belong there. No one here loves me; and I can be your mother!" she squealed excitedly. He thought about this for a while. After a second, he beamed at her grabbing her hand and rose to the ceiling of the room; but, since she couldn't fly her weight pulled on him, forcing him to drop her with a loud thud. He stopped in mid flight to laugh at her expense.  
  
"I guess you need to learn to fly first." He chuckled. She only glared at him.  
  
"Yes. I guess I do." She added with sarcasm. She stood up anxiously, closing her eyes and waiting for golden fairy dust to be sprinkled onto her. She felt nothing and so opened her eyes. Peter was standing in the middle of the room still staring at her strangely.  
  
"What are you doing?" he finally questioned her. She felt a bit embarrassed (though not really knowing why) when asked this question.  
  
"Well, don't you need fairy dust in order to fly?" she knew exactly what was needed; a pinch of fairy dust and a happy memory. She was beginning to feel it would be difficult to require both. "You have fairy dust, don't you?" her voice sounded more doubtful with every word. Peter began biting his lip and scratching his head (a universal sign of 'no') making Margaret sigh in disappointment. Now how would she leave this god forsaken place?  
  
"The fairy I brought along with me, uh, sorta, _died_, on the way here." He worded this very carefully. Margaret knew this was her mother's doing. She balled her hands into tight fists and stomped unsuitably hard on the wooden floor. Below on the ground floor, a bit of dust shook down from a chandelier onto the book Herald was reading; provoking him to jump out of his chair. He looked up wondering what his daughter was up to. "Margaret?" he shouted.  
  
Margaret looked to the door and back to Peter. "Can you carry me?" he looked once more confused at her question.  
  
"What?" his gaze followed her as she hurried over to her dresser where her book had been.  
  
"Can you carry me? To Neverland?" she ran back to him. She could already hear the footsteps of her father coming up the stairs to check on her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered to him, "Take me Peter. Take me to Neverland." He really didn't know what to do. So has gentlemanly as he could, he scooped her up in his arms and tried to take off as well as he could.  
  
_(Herald's View)_  
  
He would have thought she was asleep. That thump surely did startle him though. He was just checking to make sure she was fine. It was the natural fatherly thing to do. As he was closer to her bedroom door, he could hear voices coming from her room. _What on earth is she doing?_ He skipped steps as he climbed now and walked quickly to her door. Now to most adults that do not bear children, the sight he saw would have been nothing, but because of his fatherly instincts, he knew something was wrong right away. Her bed was still made, and the doors to the window sill were wide open. The wind blew the curtains wildly around the room and a chill began creeping into the nursery. He quickly ran to the balcony, looking down, around, up and every which way a man can turn his head.  
  
"Moira!" he yelled for his wife. He could not believe it. Their daughter; their baby girl, had disappeared.  
  
_(Pan's View)_  
  
"You remember the directions to Neverland right?" he yelled to Margaret over the howling of the wind in his ears. She nodded shakily while trying not to expose more of her skin. The night chill was terribly cold. She had made slight movements of her head to look down upon the City. New Britain and certainly changed in the past decade or so. Instead of horse-drawn carriages, high-tech automobiles running on pure electricity zoomed at break-neck speeds along the winding roads. The buildings—for the exception of the historic ones still standing from the Old England period—were much taller, almost the height of New York skyscrapers. To Peter _(though he had very bad memory)_ it was all foreign. He didn't ever remember England like this. The neon lighted billboards fastened on the sides of buildings were blinding, and Enormous T.V. Like screens flashed 3-D advertisements of Hair products, big-name restaurants, and one that apparently made Margaret squeal in joy.  
  
"Peter, look! That's John's advertisement!" she pointed to one of the large screens that had shown what looked like a photo studio and photographers shooting away at a beautiful model posing behind a grey canvas. She finally held up a shampoo bottle and an older looking man kneeled beside her. "That's him peter!"  
  
Sure enough it was. He had to have been in his sixties, but Peter knew it was him from the boyish smile and twinkle in his eye. "With hair this great, it can only come from one shampoo. Michael's Oxy-thickening shampoo." His voice was aged and cracked but it was definitely his. Peter floated in front of the advertisement entirely shocked. This was so different to him. The children he vaguely remembered were now old, and famous by the looks of it. They moved on, and he just stayed behind pretending to be a little kid.  
  
"Peter." she said soothingly, snapping him out of his daze. "It's almost dawn, we need to get to Neverland before the sun is up." She was right. Once rays of light hit the blackened sky, it would seal the entrance until that night. He began flying a top speed again toward the second star to the right and kept straight on forward...to Neverland.  
  
_The next chapter will finally reveal Neverland; I will be adding bits from the movie that just recently came out as well as from the movie **Hook**!!! Don't be shy to review, or I may take a while to update the next chapter._


End file.
